A Merry Christmas Day

It's been a very merry Christmas night, and under every Christmas tree that shines so bright, there are presents lined up for the nice, and for the naughty.
All night, Santa has flown through the air, dropping presents down every chimney, eaten every cookie, drunk every glass of milk, and as he's flying home, you can hear his merry laughter echo across the night time sky – but of course, only the naughty kids who stay awake in hopes of seeing Santa hears this laughter, but no one sees him; only the nice kids dream of his presence.

But, as Santa gets close to home, his 'ho ho ho's suddenly turn into:

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Santa pulls hard at the reins and the deers whine as they put on the breaks the best they can and stop the sleigh. Santa swerves left and right and around and backwards before the sleigh and its reindeer finally come to a stop. Santa sighs.

“Shit!” he yells, before he buries his face in his hands. For a moment, he feels like crying, but he replaces that feeling with frustration over his own stupidity.
How could he have forgotten? It is the most important thing, besides cinnamon, of the entire year!
“Shit!” he yells again. He knows it is a horrible word to use, and those naughty kids who may be listening will only get naughtier, but his sorrows and regret are far too great to worry about the fragile ears of naughty kids – and nice kids, not to forget.

Yet, all Santa can ask himself is:

“How could I forget?” He buries his face further into his hands and shakes it lightly while it's in there.

He remembered everything – or so he thought. He remembered the horribly embarrassing mittens for the devil child in Canada; he remembered the XBox for the angel kid; he remembered the sushi set for Mikey, the diamond skull earrings for Alicia, the collar for their dog and a food processor for his favorite aunt in the country.
But the most important gift of the year? The gift meant for the only person who truly deserves a gift? The gift that was supposed to be perfect?

He's thought about what to buy for a whole year, but he never figured it out. He just couldn't find a present perfect enough. Last year's present was good – a good fuck is always a good present – but this year, he wanted to give his love a present that truly showed how much he meant to him.
Not that a good fuck doesn't show that, but something more meaningful is what Santa really wanted to give to his one and only love: Mrs. Santa.

Santa knees go weak just from thinking about Mrs. Santa, so it's a good thing that he's sitting down so he won't fall out of his sleigh, but the fact that his knees feel weak doesn't change the fact that he doesn't have a perfect Christmas present for Mrs. Santa, who's right now waiting for Santa to come home so they can have dinner, sleep and then exchange presents that they've put a lot of thought into, except one part doesn't have a present, and he fucking hates himself for it!

But Santa sees no way out. All the stores are closed and all presents are already under the trees. As a last resort, Santa reaches into the back and pulls out his sack. As expected, it's empty. He is actually able to magically make a present appear at the bottom, but that would require him thinking of something specific to magically make appear, and he can't. He can't think of a present. All he can think about is his loved Mrs. Santa standing over the stove at home, waiting to hear his husband's jolly laughter.

But Santa can't bring himself to be jolly. He can't bring himself to laugh; or even smile. He's screwed up. He's failed to find the perfect present for the perfect person – the person so perfect that any present, really, would've made him happy, because he's just that perfect.

But Santa isn't perfect. Santa is full of flaws. And though he has a hard time believing it – or even thinking about it – as he rides home, slowly, in his sledge with the reindeer almost falling asleep at the antlers, then Mrs. Santa is anxiously waiting at home for his beloved Santa, hoping to all the goods in the world that he'll make it home safely this year.

Mrs. Santa hears the sledge land out in the snow, and he frowns. Where was the jolly laughter that usually resonates through the ice-cold air minutes before Santa usually lands? What happened out there tonight? Is Santa sad?
Mrs. Santa pulls off his apron, revealing his skimpy outfit, and walks over to the door that leads to the garage and stables. And sure enough, he hears his Santa trudging around, putting the reindeer in their stalls and giving them all hay. It isn't until he hears Rudolf sneeze that he opens the door – Rudolf always sneezes when he's served his hay; poor thing and its allergies.

Santa turns around, looking stunned up at Mrs. Santa. As always, he falls in love all over again as he sees the Mrs. with a smile on his face. But for the first time since the Christmas Ball in 1999 where Mrs. Santa dances with a bit too frisky Easter Bunny, Santa feels sad too.
Mrs. Santa sees this right away.

“What happened?” he asks concerned as he steps down the stairs and walks over to his Santa. Santa tries hard not to pout, but the disappointment he has for himself overpowers him.

“Nothing,” he sighs, “I don't really wanna talk about it.”
And that's when Mrs. Santa knows that something is terribly wrong. Santa always wants to talk, so why not now? What happened? Did he run out of presents? Was there an unexpected milk mustache? Or even worse; a cookie shortage?

“What's wrong?” Mrs. Santa asks insistently as he looks into Santa's eyes, but Santa is quick to avert them to the ground. He kicks it with his black boot.

“I forgot a present.” Santa's mumble is slow, quiet and almost incomprehensible, but after having known with this guy for almost 12 years and living with him for 3, Mrs. Santa easily understands his mumble.

“For someone naughty or nice?” Mrs. Santa asks carefully, knowing this is a very touchy subject. Santa always feels bad for forgetting. He remembers the first time it happened; the 2003-incident. They never really talk about it anymore. It was a bad, bad incident and Santa has never truly forgiven himself for forgetting to give little Bob his pacifier.

“Nice,” Santa whispers, and again, it would probably only be Mrs. Santa who would be able to understand what Santa said.

“Aw,” Mrs. Santa coos and then hugs his guy tightly, stroking his hair and rubbing his back.
“It'll be okay. They'll forgive you,” he whispers soothingly.
Santa closes his eyes and makes another Christmas wish: Please, let Mrs. Santa keep his word.

-----

After dinner, when Mrs. Santa is cuddled up in Santa's arms in front of a warm fire, the guilt returns to Santa. He tries to push it away and just enjoy the night like he had enjoyed the dinner, but the silence brings thoughts, and those thoughts bring guilt in Santa's gut.

And that guilt sticks. Sadly, it sticks all through the night. They go to bed; both agreeing that they are too full to have any fun. Mrs. Santa cuddles up to Santa, and Santa hold him. But while Mrs. Santa sleeps, Santa stays wide awake. He keeps thinking and thinking, hoping the perfect present will pop into his head, but it just won't. It's as if his mind is completely blank – empty.
And maybe that's why Santa wakes the next morning, realizing he did fall asleep after all. He wakes to find Mrs. Santa crawling out of bed and tip-toeing into the bathroom. He wakes and feels the joy of the whole world as they open their presents. He wakes to remember that he still hasn't found the perfect present, and that now; time has run out.

Mrs. Santa comes tiptoeing out of the bathroom, but when he sees Santa wide awake and drowsy, he walks normally over to the bed, leans over and kisses Santa on his nose tip.

“Morning,” he mumbles, and perhaps Santa is the only one to understand said mumble.

“Morning,” he mumbles right back, and lets just say that Mrs. Santa got it.

“Now,” Mrs. Santa says firmly, grabs Santa's hand and pulls.
“Presents!” he yells and continues to pull Santa after him as he walks out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the living room where their big Christmas tree stands beautifully in the center of the room. It glistens and sparkle in the light from the fire they forgot to put out. Other than that, it is just as dark as it was last night, because where they live, the sun never rises during winter and never goes down during summer – which leads to a lot of cuddling and “cuddling” under the sheets during winter and a lot of sunbathing and ice-fishing during summer.

Mrs. Santa pulls out the only, lovely, little present from underneath the tree and hands it to Santa. Santa smiles, but he knows that they both know that it's fake.
They sit down on the floor, and Santa slowly starts unwrapping the paper, making sure not to tear it. Mrs. Santa jumps up and down – literally – while Santa's gut grows heavier and heavier.
He unfolds the paper and in front of him appears a little velvet box. He swallows the lump in his throat and opens the box.
He takes a hold of the ring and hear the metal of the keys clank together. He holds them up and stares at them. He frowns.

“Come,” Mrs. Santa says and, again, pulls Santa with him. They go through the kitchen into the garage and stables, and there, as if by magic, stands a brand new sledge. It's red with green and white stripes down the sides and a black skull painted on the leg-shield.
Santa's jaw drops and Mrs. Santa squeales and jumps up and down at the sight of Santa's reaction.
“You like it?” he asks, smiling and grinning so wide that his lips would split if he hadn't put Vaseline on them every day this Christmas.

Santa can't do anything but nod. He is purely amazed by the sight of his brand new ride. Sure, he loves his old sleigh and will probably not throw it out but keep it in storage for sentimental reasons, but this new one is everything he's ever wanted in a sleigh. It's hot. It's cool. It's Christmas. And it's his; not second-hand.

“It's got 5 gears, seat heating, a remote locking system and up to 10 reindeer powers!”
Santa is truly amazed. He would've been fine with just a new pair of long Johns for the cold nights, or a bottle of over-night-beard, but a new sleigh? Even though Mrs. Santa hates that he uses a sleigh and not the jet?

Santa quickly turns around, faces Mrs. Santa and kisses him like he was leaving for the South Pole for life – the last Santa actually was sent there, but let's never talk about that.
Santa pulls away and looks into Mrs. Santa's sparkling eyes. And that's when his excitement slowly dies down. That's when he remembers that he has nothing to give back. That's when he realizes he'll have to let Mrs. Santa down.

“Why don't you take it for a quick spin while I prepare breakfast?” Mrs. Santa asks, still smiling widely. Santa smiles back.

“Sure,” he says, as excited as he can. It's not much, but it's better than a pout.
Mrs. Santa quickly turns on his heels and walks back into the kitchen.
Santa, while he could be jollying away in his new sleigh, simply settles for sitting in it, thinking.
And while he thinks through all the thoughts he's already thought through so many times in the last 12 hours, he hears something. It's a ruffle, but it isn't from the reindeer. It's too small to be from the reindeer. He looks around, and suddenly, he spots a frozen, little puppy, squeezing its way underneath the carport, seemingly stuck.

Santa aw's mentally, then quickly gets up and runs over to the little puppy. At first, it seems shocked and tries to squeeze its way back out, but when Santa shushes it and reaches out lightly to let it smell him, it calms down and soon again tries to squeeze its way inside.
Santa smiles caring.
He gets up and walks over to the wall, pressing the button that opens the port. It doesn't take much for the little puppy to get free, and it jumps inside, shaking the snow off of itself. Santa giggles, then walks over to pick the little thing up. It's shy at first, but when it recognizes the smell of Santa once again, it calms and practically jumps into Santa's hands.

Santa hugs it against his face, kissing it quickly on one of its ears. He giggles when it licks his cheek. Then, he laughs when it wiggles in his hold.

“You're laughing,” Mrs. Santa says in a soft voice from behind Santa. He sounds relieved. Santa turns around to face the Mrs., and as soon as he sees him, the Mrs. sees the puppy – and then his eyes light up.
“Gerard!” he screams, scaring both Santa and the puppy a bit, before he jumps down the stairs and runs over to Santa and the puppy.
“You got me a puppy!” he screams, making Santa squeeze his eyes shut at the sound of his loud voice so close. But still, he smiles.

“Yeah,” he lies. The reindeer know it's a lie, but Mrs. Santa doesn't, and as long as he's happy, then Santa's happy and fine with lying. It's just a white lie after all, and white is what it is outside, so nothing could be more fitting.

“But you said we couldn't have one. That it would be too much of a hassle,” Mrs. Santa coos as if he's talking to the dog, which he's currently playing with while it's still in Santa's hands.

“Yeah, but. I just wanted you to be happy,” Santa says, smiling proudly. But when Mrs. Santa looks up at him, the pride is completely replaced by love. He feels 15 again.

“I love you,” Mrs. Santa says to Santa and then kisses him.
“And you too,” Mrs. Santa says to the puppy and then kisses it.

Santa smiles down at the short Mrs. as he takes the puppy out of his hands and into his own. Mrs. Santa makes funny faces and noises as he cuddles the little fluffy thing into his chest and pets it softly. Santa's knees go weak when Mrs. Santa looks up at him, his eyes glistening with joy.

“What should we name him?” he asks, and Santa spends only a second thinking before he knows the perfect name. He steps closer to his Mrs., pets the little thing and then pets the puppy. He kisses them both and then looks into the sparkling eyes of his beloved.

“How about,” he starts, then pauses for dramatic effect before he continues; “Miracle.” Santa doesn't ask, he insists. Even if Mrs. Santa already has a name, then Santa can only argue. This little puppy is nothing short of a miracle.

“That's perfect,” Mrs. Santa says, his eyes shining like the star on top of a Christmas tree. Santa leans in and kisses the red, Christmas-y lips of Mrs. Santa. They taste like cinnamon and eggnog.
Mrs. Santa pulls away and bounces eagerly.
“Let's go inside and eat Christmas breakfast.” Santa laughs jollily as Mrs. Santa runs up the steps. Meanwhile, Santa walks over and presses the button for the carport to go down again, but then he notices the footprints from the puppy outside. He frowns and stops the carport.

As he walks closer to the cold rushing in from outside, he sees the footsteps clearer. The ones that end where the puppy got stuck under the carport door, start by the carport door. The footsteps go in circles outside, past a little yellow patch of snow and then back towards the carport.

Santa turns and looks around the garage. He walks further into the back towards the stables, and there, in a tiny corner where he puts the broom, stand a bowl. When he walks closer, he sees a folded up blanket and a bone from what was probably once a turkey leg.

While Santa gets slightly annoyed, he mainly gets disappointed. And then he pouts. His shoulders drop and he frowns lightly.
The puppy was no miracle at all. It was just Mrs. Santa being the perfect person he is and taking a little, lonesome puppy out of the cold and into the warm stables. Mrs. Santa must've meant for Santa to find it.
Did Mrs. Santa already know Santa couldn't find the perfect present?

As Santa stands there all alone – even though all the reindeer are in their stables next to him – he thinks of how lucky he is. The puppy isn't a miracle; Mrs. Santa is. How Santa ever got so lucky is hard to understand. Maybe fate thought he deserved it after making so many kids all over the world so happy for one night a year. But how Mrs. Santa ever fell for a guy with a fake beard, a fake belly and a ridiculous laugh sometimes makes Santa wonder.
But he never takes it for granted.
He always loves Mrs. Santa as much as he possibly can without bursting.
He needs him in his life forever.

And then, by magic, a little present appears in Santa's hand. It's so tiny that the bow must have been tied with tweezers. And though Santa isn't quite sure what's in it, he knows exactly who it's for.

When Santa enters the kitchen, Mrs. Santa is putting the last few things of the breakfast on the table. It mainly consists of rice pudding and leftovers from yesterday, but the way the table is decorated with candles and a little Christmas tree at the center makes it all look so inviting.
And the fact that Mrs. Santa is leaning over the table, giving Santa a great view of his perfect ass, makes the table even more inviting.

Santa walks closer to his Mrs., jumping over the new, little puppy on his way, and wraps his arms around the little one. Mrs. Santa jumps, but relaxes in the arms of his loved one and leans his back against his chest.

“Hi,” he says sweetly.

“Hi,” Santa whispers into Mrs. Santa's ear, before he holds up the tiny present in front of Mrs. Santa's face.
But Mrs. Santa has his eyes closed, and it takes a few minutes of silence and no movements at all before he opens his eyes, ready to call for breakfast to begin.
But he stops when he sees the present.
He turns around.

“What's this?” Mrs. Santa asks, looking down at Santa's open hand and at the tiny little present that's in it.
“You already gave me a present.”

“Frank,” Santa says, making it clear in his tone of voice that he knows that Mrs. Santa was hiding the puppy.
The Mrs. blushes and looks down at his feet.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It's okay,” Santa quickly says. He cups Mrs. Santa's face with his other hand that isn't holding a tiny present and lift his head so that their eyes meet.
“I had such a hard time finding the perfect present that I almost forgot. I thought the puppy appeared by magic, but again; that was just you being perfect.” Mrs. Santa blushes again and tries to look down, but Santa keeps his face up.
“We're keeping Miracle,” Santa says, and Mrs. Santa's eyes light up once again, making Santa almost lose his balance and fall on his ass.
But he doesn't.
“But I also wanted you to give you a real present.” Santa pushes his hand forward, urging Mrs. Santa to take the present out of said hand. And he does. He looks down at it, before he smiles up at Santa.

“Thank you.”
Mrs. Santa carefully unwraps the tiny little thing, and to the surprise of both Mr. and Mrs. Santa, a tiny ring appears. It's made out of gold, and instead of a diamond, it's got a red bow as a gemstone.
Mrs. Santa looks up at Santa with wide eyes.
Santa's eyes aren't that big, though. Without a thought, with just his heart leading the way, he drops to one knee and takes the free hand of Mrs. Santa.

“My Mrs, my dearest, will you officially be mine?”

“Yes!” Mrs. Santa screams, not a single moment of thought given. He has already known the answer for years, and deep down, so has Santa.

And so, they kiss. And just like all the other years, the reindeer see everything. They all see Santa kissing his Mrs., who is now officially Mrs. Santa.
Or Mrs. Claus.
Or whatever you wish to call him.
And so, Christmas is once again saved by the magic of the holiday itself.

And while Santa said that he forgot a present to someone nice, he should probably have said someone naughty. Because what they did after that ring was slipped onto Mrs. Santa's finger are so naughty that they certainly belong nowhere in a Christmas tale such as this.
Or maybe it does.
Maybe next year, when we're all a year older and wiser, all the dirty things they did, do and will do will be described thoroughly in a story, but now; let's just enjoy the thought of Santa and his Mrs. spending a perfect Christmas in each others' laps.
Ho-ho-ho.

And Merry Christmas.